


He Who Cries

by SweetFloatFlats



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Bullying, Fighting, Fights, M/M, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, lowkey romance, physical violence, pregame au, pregame!amami rantaro, pregame!oma kokichi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15391080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFloatFlats/pseuds/SweetFloatFlats
Summary: He was always alone, the boy who spent most of his days crying. Now...things are different.





	He Who Cries

The boy who always cried had caught Rantaro Amami's attention; the one sitting in the back corner of the class, dark purple eyes peering hopelessly out the window as if pleading for someone—something—to remove him from the world he lived in, for even just a single minute. His hands would fidget back and forth on the desktop, the skin around his nails peeled horribly and red from dried blood.

He never seemed to pay attention in class either, despite constantly being scolded by the teachers and other faculty. His expression was always alert and terrified; he acted fragile as if one touch would break him into thousands of pieces.

Even though he had nothing to do with Rantaro, the frizzy, green-haired boy still looked at him. Maybe it was pity; Kokichi Ouma, the boy who held no speck of life left shining in his eyes, was being pitied by someone who, in all honesty, couldn't care less about anything else. How strange.

The scars that tainted his wrists and arms, which he tried so desperately to hide every day, were soon revealed by others in the class who taunted him, mocking tones seeping out of their throats naturally.

"What's this? Did your parents finally realize what a shitty son they had? Or did you do this yourself, huh? Look at me when I talk to you, you worthless piece of dog shit!"

When he cried, Kokichi was the most beautiful. That's what Rantaro thought, at least. His cheeks would burn red with embarrassment and fear while salty tears slid out of his eyes and down to his chin. His soft face scrunched up (the bridge of his nose, mostly) and he would hide behind his arms as if the frail bones would do anything against the same people who constantly overpowered him day after day. 

If the bruises beneath the bandages on his arms and face weren't from his parents, relatives, or himself, they were usually from his classmates.

During the morning break they would scribble insults and profanities on his desk while he hid away in the bathroom, begging for an escape to someone who would never respond to him no matter how much he pleaded.

During lunch they'd steal his food and either throw it out so he'd have to starve or incorporate shards of broken glass (god knows where they managed to get that) or sewing needles into what he already had. Rantaro had seen Kokichi run out crying and holding a hand over his mouth as blood spilled down his chin countless times; too many times.

P.E. was easiest for them; Kokichi was always singled out due to his weak body, so he usually sat out while everyone else participated in the day's activity. They'd fill his shoes (either pair, depending on when they wanted to see him cry again) with thumb tacks and wait for him to put them on, snickering in the background until he yelped in pain and retreated to the nurse's office.

After school...was uncertain. Rantaro wondered whether it was because they had exhausted themselves during the day or because there was something else he was unaware of. Either way, they didn't mess with him anymore once the last school bell rang. Up until then, they went all out.

Today, they broke their unspoken rule.

"Huh? Like that, you piece of shit? Speak up! I can't hear you!" One boy taunted Kokichi from above, kicking him hard in the side. The latter whimpered in pain, holding his head while curled in a ball on the dirt; he was pathetic.

He tried to sputter the words from his pale lips, but with every kick he received he found it increasingly difficult to even think of what he was supposed to say—what he should say.

Rantaro watched from the other side of the road; they wouldn't bother him there. He indeed believed that Kokichi was a pathetic being, hardly even able to protect himself with the body he had, but he also believed that there was something more to him. Something that gnawed at Rantaro like an unsolved mystery in a book—one with the pages torn out from so long ago that you'd never get to know the ending without cheating your way around it.

Kokichi was, in fact, a book with torn pages.

"P-p-ple-please—"

The group laughed; they were mocking him once again. With every stutter, the leader (as it seemed) would kick him harder, with more hatred visible in his expression. Why did they hate him so much? Kokichi had nothing and they knew that. What was there to be jealous of?

"I can't hear you!" He scoffed, pressing the heel of his foot against Kokichi's head. He had all the power to simply break Kokichi's skull at any moment; the fear of such seeped into his mind slowly (the pain was delaying his ability to process) and tears spilled down his cheeks, only choking him up even more.

"P-plea—"

"Just stop this already."

The boys looked over; Rantaro decided to step in now, as watching from the sidelines had gotten rather boring and difficult. It was unbearable to watch someone who couldn't even choke out a few words be beaten and mocked, especially when they were the reasons he couldn't speak up despite asking why he stuttered.

The main boy had stepped off Kokichi, giving him enough time to lift himself from the dirt and scoot away, albeit remaining on his rear. He was still afraid; even his actions had become habitual to how they had been treating him as their inferior. He refused to stand, even in this moment, because of bad habit alone.

He glared at Rantaro, but cracked a smirk once he thought up what to say and how to say it. "What, you his boyfriend or something? I knew a bitch like him would be a fag," he spat out, glancing over to his other friends for support; they nodded and snickered in return.

"And if I am? Is there a problem?" Rantaro narrowed his eyes at them, making sure they knew just how capable he was of taking them all on right there and right then if they wished to; he almost chuckled upon seeing the main troublemaker shiver under his gaze. Was he scared? What a pity.

"W-what the hell— Ugh! You're both disgusting fags! C'mon, let's leave already. I feel sick just looking at their faces," he muttered, waving for the others to follow him as he stormed off in defeat.

Rantaro leaned back a it, chuckling as he slid one hand in the pocket of his pants. "You alright, Ouma?" He held out his other hand to the boy who sat on the ground, shaking in fear the whole time. Kokichi winced when the taller boy held his hand out; the emotional harm had done enough for him. "Hey, c'mon, I'm not gonna hurt you."

Hesitantly, the small boy held onto Rantaro's hand and was pulled into his feet. He dusted himself off, looking down as if he was guilty. "I-I-I'm s-sorry," he sputtered out weakly, his voice sounding dry and almost cracked (if that were possible).

"For what? You're the victim. C'mon, I'll take you to the hospital." Rantaro gently guided Kokichi to walk beside him, but he resisted.

"I-it's alright, I-I c-c-can," he paused for a moment to swallow hard, "g-go home...."

Rantaro shook his head. "You've got bruises and cuts all over you...." He took a second to notice Kokichi's expression; the boy looked truly terrified. Could he have possibly heard some bad rumors...? He let out a sigh. Those were common for him, so it wouldn't be a surprise. "Listen...I don't know what you heard about me, but it's not true, whatever it is. I want to help you, alright? You don't have to be afraid of me. I promise."

Kokichi flinched; the tone Rantaro used was so different and sounded foreign to him. He was being so gentle and sweet, but just when did he plan on turning like everyone else...? He was afraid. He didn't want to be targeted again. Tears welled up in his eyes and his lip quivered as he tried to hold them back.

"I-I'm s-so—"

"Hey." Rantaro took Kokichi's hand, comforting him as best as he could without harming his frail build. "It's not your fault, okay?" Although he wanted to see that cute face cry again, he knew it wasn't the right time. Not once had he ever seen Kokichi smile, but even so, Rantaro was strangely certain that it was even cuter than his teary-eyed expression.

Kokichi reached his free hand up and wiped at the tears in his eyes. He nodded slightly, like a child being comforted by his parent; he gripped Rantaro's hand a bit tighter unconsciously as if to say 'I trust you'.

Rantaro walked him along tenderly, and inside he felt something grow; a violent feeling that seemed to scream: 'I want to protect this kid, no matter what'.

And that's exactly what he would do.


End file.
